


Inevitable

by neevebrody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-11
Updated: 2010-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The low spark of panic edges up Rodney's spine, fanning itself into full flame as the warm and oppressive darkness bears down on him.  He'd been too intent on saving Sheppard before, then saving himself to really notice it at first, but within seconds, his breathing becomes harsh and shallow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the It's Only Just Begun Fest

Running for his life wouldn't be Rodney McKay's first choice for a good time, but right now that _for your life_ part seems to push the running part head and shoulders above any other alternative. Except that…

"We're going in circles," he huffs, glancing at a familiar wall panel in the underbelly of the Dahloran temple.

"What're you talking about, McKay," John calls back over his shoulder. "Keep up!"

"Dammit, Sheppard." Rodney stutters to a halt, bending in half to try to catch his breath, to put out the fire from the stitch in his side. Heat of another kind grips his chest, a hot iron fist, and he doesn't even care any more if the Dahlorans catch up with him. Heart attack or firing squad, Rodney just can't work out the advantages of one over the other at the moment.

Jogging back, the clunk of Sheppard's boots make for an odd complement to Rodney's wheezing. Rodney slowly raises himself and takes a good, deep breath. The look on Sheppard's face says that he knows Rodney's right… circles. Rodney starts to say something, his words caught short by the slight tingling at his scalp that trickles down over his entire body. He sways a bit; the edges of his vision darkening like a rolling storm. A hand appears from nowhere, catches him, making it all disappear.

"Whoa, you all right there, buddy?"

"Peachy." Rodney steadies himself; his glare doesn't hold much bite, but it's enough. "Just my luck… stuck trying to outrun very angry soldiers with the only person in two galaxies more directionally challenged than I am."

John cocks his head and shrugs. "Other than that, you okay?"

Rodney waves him off. "Fine, fine—now that I've stopped running. Unfortunately, that doesn't make us any less lo—"

"Yeah, yeah. You got any suggestions, now's the time."

Rodney tugs the lifesigns detector from his vest and stares. "I have no idea, but we've got about fifteen seconds to decide."

John swivels his head right and left and then pulls Rodney toward a door that Rodney swears wasn't there five seconds ago. "In here. Maybe we can buy some time at least."

The door opens and John shoves Rodney in first, falling in after him. "Ow, Jesus, McKay, back up. What the—" When John closes the door, a soft, mechanical hiss accompanies Rodney's reply.

"Don't look at me," Rodney's tone is flat. "That is, if you _are_ looking at me. I can't see my hand in front of me… that is, if I could raise my hand in front of me."

John shifts. "Yeah, it is kinda dark and kinda close—"

"Oh, now there's a brilliant assessment." He can tell from Sheppard's voice that they're facing one another.

"Can't you move at all?"

Rodney sighs. "My back is against the wall, here, Sheppard. Literally." And it is. The room, or whatever, is two-people-square and resembles the bottom of a full inkwell.

"Well, can you at least—"

"Shhh," Rodney hisses. The sound of running footsteps and clattering armament comes and goes outside the door.

"Can you at least lose your vest," John whispers, faint warm breath floating across Rodney's cheek. "It'll take up less room at our feet. Besides, the damn thing's poking me."

But before Rodney can move, John's hands fumble at the vest; the sharp zip rings loud in the small space. Rodney shrugs out of it and lets it drop to the floor. That does make a little more breathing room, but… oh shit, breathing.

The low spark of panic edges up Rodney's spine, fanning itself into full flame as the warm and oppressive darkness bears down on him. He'd been too intent on saving Sheppard before, then saving himself to really notice it at first, but within seconds, his breathing becomes harsh and shallow.

"McKay? Oh, Christ," and there's a little 'light-bulb' in John's voice. "C'mon, Rodney, you're gonna be okay. Just… breathe. All I need to do is get this door—" Rodney hears him scrabbling around for a way to open the door, thinking, a bit annoyed, that if he could freaking breathe, he wouldn't be about to fall headlong into a panic attack. "Dammit! There's no… Rodney, the handle's… gone. It's not here, I—"

Whatever Sheppard says next is muffled, like voices from another room. Rodney's mind clicks and whirs, processing that hissing sound. Was it possible the room had sealed itself? A means of protection, or… a trap? He needs to tell John this, but John's still talking.

"…if we could just see, maybe this—"

From Sheppard's mouth to God's, or somebody's, ear. A bright orange globe glows above their heads, like a doomed star in the unending ceiling. It bathes them in a soft light and snaps Rodney out of his panic. He blinks into John's wide eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. That wasn't you?"

"What do I look like, Merlin the Magician? No it wasn't—" More footsteps enter the hallway. "Oh God, I knew it. It's some sort of trap," Rodney whispers. "Perfect. You fool someone into opening the door and they're trapped. Just like this whole temple's a maze. Rats… we're like rats in a trap." But the footsteps rumble on past the panel at John's back.

Now that his eyes have adjusted, Rodney can see Sheppard smiling at him and he takes the moment of relative safety to measure the man. Just minutes ago, he'd been bent over that altar, shirt ripped apart by the Dahlorans and the sickening sound of that first lash not yet banished from Rodney's mind. His breath quickens now just thinking about it. A hot sea of rage had clouded Rodney's vision as the Dahloran soldier raised his arm once again, the long braid of leather crackling through the air like static… Sheppard recoiling in perfect time with Ronon's C4 diversion.

With no thought for himself, Rodney had stormed in with Teyla to grab Sheppard and spirit him away amid the chaos that followed. Unfortunately, they'd become separated, leaving him and Sheppard to scramble through the temple… in the wrong direction.

Rodney thinks of the plan to meet back at the jumper and wonders if the others are safe and waiting on them even now. What would they do when he and Sheppard didn't show? Would they follow protocol? Call for back up? How long would they wait? Rodney searches for any number of positive outcomes to hold onto while staring at Sheppard's bare shoulders.

He suddenly realizes, gazing at the prominent curve and twist of John's collarbone, that he's stepped back from that line into panic, but that still doesn't stop him from pointing out the inevitable. "We're gonna die in here," he says softly, still following that line to the cap of John's shoulder. Even in the dim light, Rodney can see it's dotted with freckles and somehow that fills him with an eerie calmness he doesn't understand.

"We're not gonna die, Rodney. There's gotta be a way out—we just need to find it." But the soothing words don't exactly match the passing shot of doubt in John's eyes as Rodney looks into them.

"There's no oxygen in he—" Rodney whips his head around as a clear, cool stream of air hisses at them. "Wha—what did you do now?"

John shrugs and seems to be just as puzzled as Rodney. "I just thought it'd be nice if we had a little air."

"Oh, and you couldn't have thought of that ten min… wait, you thought?" Rodney looks closer at the wall panels to his left, trying to make out the designs. "Oh my God, of course. I remember reading something in the Ancient database… Dahlora's not an outpost, but ah, ah, like M7G-677—"

"The kids?"

"Yes. A protected planet. Maybe the Ancients were doing research here and… there could be Ancient tech scattered all over."

John raises an eyebrow. "Tech activated with…"

"The ATA gene, exactly. You mentioned light and you thought air and… ooh, how about thinking door knob or crystals or something?"

Rodney's outlook lightens considerably, confident that in mere seconds, they'll both be spilling back out into the temple corridor. Sheppard's trying. Rodney's waiting… any minute now. He looks expectantly at John and kind of bounces a little.

"It's no use. There's no handle. There's no door frame, no breaks in the wall, nothing."

"But—but that's—there has to be. Are you concentrating?" He ignores John's scowl.

"You try," John offers, "you never know."

Eyes closed, face scrunched with the effort, Rodney thinks _door_ and _open_ and a few dozen other variations. When he finally opens his eyes, Sheppard shaking his head is not what he wants to see. "Son of a bitch," Rodney mutters, his shoulders slumping.

"Hey, check your scanner," John says, hope lilting his voice.

Rodney stares blankly but John assures him he's got an idea. The air might be useful for breathing, but it was doing nothing for the temperature in the room. As he shifts to reach his vest, his sweat-glued tee shirt peels away from the skin, sending warm trickles down his back.

He manages to get his other hand between them to grab the scanner and brushes across what feels like Sheppard's pants front in the process. Deciding it's probably best not to call attention to that, Rodney says nothing but his face flushes hot anyway. Holding the scanner up to the light, the display is not a pleasant one. "Oh shit, we're surrounded."

"Just as I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"This room or whatever must be a means of protection. It won't unseal until the danger's passed. We just need to wait it out."

"So, we're at the mercy of this, this… whatever it is?" Rodney doesn't like being at the mercy of anything he can't control, and just like that, the specter of we're going to die whispers in his ear. He takes another look at the scanner and notices something he hadn't before. "We're not showing up."

"Huh? What do you mean we're not showing up?"

"Our life signs, they don't read."

"But that's good, isn't it? The bad guys can't find us. Must be part of the protection, a cloak or something."

Rodney tosses him a smirk. "Well, then neither can the good guys," he says, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin suddenly clammy and damp and he can't get enough air. Sweat escapes his temples in tiny rivulets and the edges of the room get dark again.

But then Rodney's aware of Sheppard's hand on his shoulder, his vision a single cone of light, focused on Sheppard trying to get his attention, lips moving. "Rodney, Rodney!"

The vest hits the floor as he grabs Sheppard's arm, like that's the only thing that will keep him there, keep him from crossing that line into unconsciousness. He can hear Sheppard now, voice low and calm and oddly seductive, and that's exciting and disturbing at the same time, though somehow Rodney knows that's not Sheppard's intent.

He's trying to talk Rodney down and Rodney's trying real hard to keep his feet firmly on the floor. It seems to be working. There's a hand at the back of his neck and Sheppard's telling him to focus, but the only thing Rodney's thinking right now is how, even with running from the Dahlorans and being cooped up in this space, Sheppard manages to smell so damn good. Rodney takes a deep breath and the next thing he feels is damp, hairy and warm against his forehead.

He turns into the sharp rise of that collarbone. Sheppard's chest rises and Rodney's arms feel like lead, but he lifts one to run his fingers over the hard ridge, following it out until it disappears into the softness of Sheppard's shoulder. And there's just no way someone's damn collarbone should be that sexual, but it is. Rodney's not thinking of what he's doing or why when he follows his fingers with his tongue or when he feels the rush of John's breath, heavy and hot; John's skin, salty and sharp.

John shifts from one foot to the other. "Uhm… McKay?"

Rodney doesn't look up. "I know."

"You mind telling me wh—"

Rodney raises his hand. "No… no, let's just not say anything… I think that's probably best."

"But, you—"

"Yes, I know… but you said to focus and it was… right there, and it's… amazing." Rodney barely recognizes his own voice. "The symmetry… they way it… and you… you smell so…"

John draws a deep breath. "I what?"

Rodney shakes his head. "Nothing, nothing. Look, I'm sorry, okay. Let's just forget all—"

John hooks Rodney's chin and lifts it – John's mouth right there – and Rodney catches a twinkle in those shaded eyes before his own flutter shut at the touch of John's lips. It's kind of unbalanced at first, all awkward angles and cautious validation, but then Rodney opens up a little, even more when John's tongue edges his bottom lip, coyly, asking, and then they're both kind of lost in the wonder of it. Lost amid hot, adrenaline-fueled breath, warm, damp skin and air hissing in and out of nostrils, neither one willing to give just yet.

Rodney's hands hesitate over John's chest, toying with the spare metal chain, warming it between his fingers. He shivers as John tightens his grip on the nape of his neck, the other hand finding the sweat-slicked small of Rodney's back. Surprisingly, Rodney's only freaked out for about half a second before falling into it, going with it, like kissing John Sheppard is the most natural thing in the world, the sum of all the complex equations he can think of, the answer to all the tough questions of life… and the amazing thing? John's kissing him back the same way and just for a moment, Rodney wonders if he hadn't passed out after all and this is just some cruel dream.

The familiar finally cuts through the veil separating them from the rest of the galaxy – just when it's all fitting together, when it's starting to makes sense, when hands begin to itch to explore – Teyla's voice first, then Ronon's. Then footsteps and an unknown voice ordering someone to fall back and someone else to converge in the next corridor.

So quiet they can barely hear it over their heavy breathing, the panel hisses again and Rodney reaches lazily behind John, groping for a handle or a catch or something.

They break apart slowly, just as Rodney finds the opening.

"Door back?" John asks, his voice kind of unsteady and wrecked.

Rodney stares at John's lips, blushed red by Rodney's stubble. "Yeah," he says, nodding. He has to take a breath, because, Jesus, that's such a good look for Sheppard… rumpled and kiss-swollen, and it kind of makes Rodney's chest ache a little, makes the words catch in his throat. "Incredible timing."

John shrugs, his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth curve pliantly in opposite directions. "You wanted to get out of here in one piece, didn't you? We just had to wait for some support."

Rodney nods, eyes widening with comprehension. "You… you mean… you could have thought that door open anytime? Jesus Christ, Sheppard, do you have any idea what I was—"

John pressed a finger to Rodney's lips. "Nothing was going to happen to you, Rodney. Not as long as I was here."

"But you…"

"You can ask Keller for some meds when we get home if you want," John says, patting Rodney's shoulder, "or take a long, relaxing shower. Who knows, I might even scrub your back if you ask nicely." He grins, cheeks pushing up the corners of his eyes; the soft light showing off those feathery creases that Rodney swears could never look as good on anyone else.

He smiles back and John takes his finger away. "So then, that kiss wasn't just a clever diversion to keep me from freaking out?"

"Grab your vest and hand me your gun," John says, his hand covering Rodney's on the handle, leaning forward to steal one more kiss, and breathing a quick, "Stay behind me," as he opens the door.

_~not the end, it's only just begun…_


End file.
